'PHAZMA,' the cleverest of our western poets, who has written so many beautiful things for the New-Orleans '_Picayune_,' presents us lately with the subjoined tender sonnet. He has 'discharged' it as well as if he had previously read the directions of our eastern 'manufacturer of the article,' in our last issue: MATERNAL TENDERNESS. A MOTHER bends above her weeping child, Her bosom heaving with convulsive throe, Her large eye lighted with expression wild, That, ah! too plainly speaks maternal wo! The tearful infant, lost in bitter grief, Thrills forth its plaintive call for tender care; While from a mother's trembling hand relief, Alas! can answer no imploring pray'r. Swift-falling tears! and piercing cries of pain! Maternal passion kindling into glow! Peace banished from its sweet domestic reign! _Stricken_ with grief!--ah! sad and cruel _blow_! Behold the matron in a fury blue, _Beating her screaming Bobby with a shoe!_ * * * * * OUR esteemed friend, JOHN SANDERSON, the distinguished 'American in Paris,' whom the readers of this Magazine have known so long, and regarded so highly, is no more! Sad indeed is the task of recording the demise of a scholar so profound, a gentleman so accomplished, and a man so widely admired and beloved. SANDERSON was a delightful companion; and as we record this hasty tribute to his memory, we cannot help recalling the many pleasant passages, personal and epistolary, that we have had together. A correspondent of the _Philadelphia Gazette_, who knew him well, furnishes the following notice of the deceased, in the justice of which all who knew him will cordially concur: